


The Desiderate Aspiration

by iimpavid



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Aliases, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen, M/M, Peter Nureyev's Alias Catalog, Recreational Drug Use, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 20:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpavid/pseuds/iimpavid
Summary: If galaxies could have magnetic poles-- they couldn't but if they could-- one of the Milky Way's poles was Brahma. Peter was always oriented in relation to it. A soft buzzing feeling at the center of his forehead that subsides to complete comfort when he's facing home. The other was the Schnoorian citystate Yoraba.





	The Desiderate Aspiration

**Author's Note:**

> A draft of an introduction to a larger story that, knowing me, will never get told.

If galaxies could have magnetic poles-- they couldn't but if they could-- one of the Milky Way's poles was Brahma. Peter was always oriented in relation to it. A soft buzzing feeling at the center of his forehead that subsides to complete comfort when he's facing home. The other was the Schnoorian citystate Yoraba.

Yoraba's bazaar district crawled up the bases of skyscrapers like parasitic vines in the acid rainforests of Venus. Whole family histories, urban legends and warnings painted and carved into concrete and steel that bled the whole ground level into a single mural if one` didn't know how to read it. All of it hot and neon-lit. Even in the planet's eternal twilight the crowded streets were sweltering. 

Peter stripped off his suit jacket, knotting it around his waist, and rolled up his sleeves. The dialects of Agrian drifted past, myriad, and Peter could only track one or two of them; the clicks and whistles were a music he could mimic easier than he could understand.    
  
Crammed between two buildings an antique shop had sprung up when no one was looking. Miss Seleny's Fine Goods and Curious Creations filled every available space, teetering up five stories and held up only by the buildings on either side. Its window displays were full of cobwebs and dust behind the dense layers of books, vintage-dressed mannequins, cascades of knickknacks and costume jewelry.    
  
It caught Peter's eye and he grinned to himself before ducking inside.   
  
The inside of Miss Seleny's shop was infinitely more welcoming than its exterior. It was no less cramped but it was lit by soft white lights hung from the high ceilings. The air conditioning was set to arctic temperatures. A green sign flickering on the back wall-- seeming impossibly far away by a trick of shelf arrangements-- informed him that this was the floor for rare books and that up the spiral staircase clothes could be found. On the floor above that, furniture.   
  
"Callyx Giles, I'll be damned." Miss Seleny's granddaughter, Cora, slid out from behind the cashier's desk. She took after her grandmother; eyes black as still water and flecked with autumnal yellow set into an elegantly-scaled face. She wore a pink brocade smoking jacket over a sheer dress that dripped with strung beads. A certain eccentricity of fashion and body modification ran in their family. "What brings you here after so long?"    
  
Peter dodged a leaning tower of textbooks that looked like they were in the process of having their library security tags removed.  "If I said your beautiful face, would you believe me?"    
  
"If that's all you're here for then I'll be disappointed."    
  
He produced a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish and held it out to her. She raised an eyebrow-- and as she unfolded it a lascivious grin broke across her face, "Oh Callyx, you shouldn't have."    
  
The Desiderate Aspiration was a deceptively small treasure. A hunk of smoked diamondese that, under the right conditions, could be used to great and dangerous effect. It didn't refract light but absorbed it. A laser focused through it could be focused across lightyears.   
  
"I'm sure the Uranian Viceroy agrees, but I've never had time for things like "should" and "should not"."    
  
"What do you want for it?"    
  
"Not much. I could start with something a little less conspicuous to wear and food that wasn't prepared in a shuttlecraft galley."   
  
"How is it that you've been doing this longer than I've been alive, yet you're terrible at haggling?"    
  
"Oh, that's only the top of the list, my dear. I also need a hovercycle, a minimum of a hundred thousand untraceable creds, three tempered obsidian knives, your grandmother's locket, and a bottle of hair dye."    
  
“The old bat’s locket, huh?” She gave him a once-over, calculating, "That's more like it." 

__

Asha Magnum had one very simple job: maintain security at the Yoraba Wolfden's Agrian location. This involved lots of fairly simple things: management, delegation, contracting, gun running, the odd shakedown. But once in a while, every so often, some fool would get it in their head to sniff around the Wolfden and she had the privilege of doing her job the old fashioned way: dragging the poor bastard out back to beat the tar out of 'em.

This guy was stocky and fought mean. Had absolutely zero compunctions about biting, a hell of a left hook, and would have shot her if she hadn't had the good luck of disarming him out of hand. 

_ He _ was used to getting lucky, too, judging by the fact that he made a break for it after a jab to her right kidney that would've left her wheezing if she still had a right kidney. (A girl had to pay the bills somehow.) Slamming him back against the Wolfden's dumpster was one of the most satisfying things she'd done in weeks. It left him blinking off a daze that might be a concussion and left her enough time to slip on the brass knuckles she'd forgotten in her rush to keep him from getting away.

From behind her, she heard a voice purr, "My, my, what have we here?" 

She froze, fist cocked back and fully primed to break the thief's teeth in. "Just some rat I found sniffin' around the office, is all."    
  
"Is that so?"   
  
"Yeah-- caught 'im goin' through our--"    
  
"And how, exactly, did he get there in the first place? You are still the night manager, aren't you, Asha?" In the dim of the alley Callyx Giles' face was inscrutable but his tone sent a clear message: he was not pleased and their boss would be hearing about this. He stared not at Asha but straight at Juno Steel.    
  
"Well, see, I had to take--"   
  
"Why don’t you head back inside, Ash-- I think I'll take care of this,” the smile was audible as he spoke, pitched low and admiring. With a gesture he had a butterfly knife pressed gently into the thin plane of skin where cheek met eyelid. “Would you just look at that shade of blue?"    
  
She frowned, "Hey, now, I don't think--"   
  
"Go do your job, Asha. I'll find out what he took-- don't worry about the details."    
  
Silence stretched until Asha left the alley, the Wolfden's back door slamming shut behind her.    
  
"Who the hell are you supposed to--" Juno flinched as, with a gesture, the knife flicked shut-- and sliced open his cheek on as it went.   
  
" _ Shit _ ." Just as fast, cool hands pressed fabric, a bandanna, against the wound. "Juno, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"    
  
Juno squinted in the dim. " _ Nureyev _ ? What are you doing here?"    
  
"Working, Juno. I'm on break right now. Come here, just a moment." He gently pulled Juno into the pool of fluorescent light outside the club's back door. Facial wounds tended to bleed terribly but the cut was shallow and small and, if Juno could be persuaded to take care of it, it wouldn't scar. Peter sighed around the feeling of crushing guilt that threatened, "I'm so sorry, Juno, I had to think on my feet and soma ruins the steadiness of my hands-- this was a lesser of possible evils."   
  
“How is maybe-stabbing my only working eye  _ lesser _ ?” There were a dozen questions vying for the foreground of Juno's mind-- Why was Nureyev in Yoraba’s Agrian District, of all places? What was he doing working  _ for _ the Yoraba, of all people? What was at Wolfden worth stealing and did it involve an Iridian Pulsar Jewel? Why did _ any of this _ require blue hair?-- the one question that, stupidly, was the only one to fall out of his mouth was, "Wait- _ \- you’re high _ ?"    
  
Tension ratcheted up Peter’s shoulders. "When in Newrome, one does as Newromans do. For,” he checked the watchface on the inside of his right wrist, “... the next eight hours at least."   
  
"And what, exactly, are you  _ doing _ here?"    
  
"Working," he repeated, blithe smile belying his annoyance; he was loathe to repeat himself. “As a bartender, presently; I couldn’t turn down the offer, they gave me a fantastic Arrakan worms’ leather jacket. But enough about that; what’s interesting, what’s  _ relevant _ , is what brings you  _ here _ , Juno.  _ Off Mars _ . Slumming through the Agrian District knowing good and well the whole state is in Yoraba’s stranglehold. You could get me in a lot of trouble, you know. You wouldn’t have to try at all.” 

“I’m working.” 

Even though he was backlit Juno could still see him roll his eyes. “ _ Fine _ . Well, as enlightening as this is, I’m afraid I’ve reached my government-mandated ten minutes. Don’t come back inside or I’ll let Asha finish her work on your teeth.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I accept payment in the form of comments and accolades.


End file.
